When the Trumpet Sounds
by ShapeShiftersandFire
Summary: Carmilla is a burnt-out racing Thoroughbred transferred to Silas Farm at her owners' request, now under the guidance of trainer Danny Lawrence and gentle hand of jockey Laura Hollis. As Carmilla begins to find her fire again, the pressure mounts to enter her in a match race against her half-brother, Will, and, soon enough, her dam, The Dean. Racehorse AU.
1. The Black Filly

**A/N #1: This is what it is. What you see is what you get. This is not a metaphor. No deeper meaning, even if you tilt your head and squint.**

* * *

They called the filly Carmilla, after the vampire in Sheridan La Fanu's novel. She was small for a racing Thoroughbred, only fifteen and a half hands at the withers, but she had more heart and fire than any other horse that set foot on the track. Never did she allow another horse to pass her. Once she was in the lead, she fought to keep it and refused to let it go. She was as fierce and imposing as her dam, The Dean, and as swift and sure-footed as her sire, Count Vlad. In her owners' opinion, she was the perfect combination of both.

When Carmilla started her training at one year old, she threw her first jockey. She threw her second, and she threw her third, all experienced men who had ridden dozens of horses to victory over the years, and bit her fourth hard enough that he refused to have anything to do with the headstrong young filly. But when her owners brought in a fifth jockey, a young and inexperienced girl called Ell, Carmilla did not bite her or throw her. She took to the girl faster than she had taken to any of her other jockeys. For whatever reason, Carmilla was more comfortable with a female jockey in the saddle than a male.

It mattered not to her owners, so long as the filly was trainable and able to race. They were pleased with their filly's progress, and even more so when Carmilla ran and won her maiden race. From there, she went on to win her second race and her third race, all the way up to her tenth race.

Then there was a noticeable change in Carmilla's behavior. She hardly ate, she hardly slept. She was moody and intolerable, unpleasant to be around and even more unpleasant to ride. She trained as she always had, but refused to give it her all. She seemed to have sunk into some strange lethargy that her owners refused to attribute to the death of Ell in a racing accident, but instead blamed it on her new racing schedule that put her in one race every two weeks.

In the following nine races she ran, Carmilla's undefeated streak was shattered. She placed dead last in her eleventh race, fifth in her twelfth, and seventh in her thirteenth, a pattern that continued up until her nineteenth race, when her owners decided there was no use in keeping her around any longer. She brought in little money, and was taking up space that could have been used for another, better horse.

So Carmilla was sold to the powerful Karnstein family of Styria, a region in southern Austria. The Karnsteins noticed immediately that something was wrong with Carmilla. She still ran in the same apparent lethargy she had settled into with her previous owners. The Karnsteins hired a trainer they thought would be good for Carmilla, one that would help her wake up and run the way she had.

But the trainer's methods were far from fruitful; he was cruel in his methods, putting a male jockey into the saddle and having him lay the crop on Carmilla for half a mile every day they trained. He ran the filly in any kind of weather and pushed her hard. The crop was constantly laid on, and by the time seven months had passed, Carmilla was bitter, angry, and flat-out sour. She lunged and lashed out at anyone who came near; she kicked the walls of her stall and whinnied her fury into the early hours of the morning. She refused to run, and more than once she threw her jockey. The trainer, in response, tried to beat some sense into her with the crop, and Carmilla, having none of that, knocked him to the ground and ran off down the track.

Immediately following the incident, the Karnsteins fired the trainer and the jockey, and left Carmilla alone, wondering what to do with their hurting and broken horse. They were reluctant to hire another trainer, for fear of what would happen to Carmilla. It was through word of mouth that the Karnsteins heard of renowned horse trainer Danny Lawrence, known for being gentle in her training methods and her understanding of the horse's needs. It was not long after this that Carmilla found herself being loaded into a trailer, and on her way down south to Silas Farm.

~O~

There was a light rain tapping on the windshield as jockey Laura Hollis drove to work that morning in March. The sky was just beginning to lighten to a pale gray from a soft dark blue-gray, and it was beginning to take the rain with it. It had rained hard the night before, hard enough to leave puddles along the sides of the roads, and no about all over the race tracks. Laura doubted she would be riding that morning, unless the puddles somehow all cleared up and the track dried up.

She had no problem with waiting to ride, after all, her safety and that of the horse's came before the need to train the horses. Danny would make sure of that, she knew. The trainer never let anyone ride if the track or weather conditions were bad.

Laura counted the number of water-filled potholes she hit on the road until she pulled into the dirt driveway of Silas Farm, a large complex of pastures and barns that housed some of the best races horses in Styria. And that morning, Laura remembered as she watched a red pickup truck towing a long silver trailer behind it in her rear view mirror, they were going to get more.

She pulled her car up next to the sheltered outdoor ring. It wasn't her usual parking space, but she wanted to see the new horses that arrived at the barn this morning. Danny had mentioned in passing that the farm was going to be getting special arrival, and Laura was anxious to see just what kind of horse this special arrival was.

The trailer was already parked next to the ring, in another half that was nothing more than a sheltered dirt pavilion, and Danny was sorting out a couple bay horses from the back of the trailer. Laura looked them over closely, but found that she never would have been able to tell the difference between them if she tried. She joined Danny just as the redhead finished giving the two stable hands leading the bays their directions.

"…take them to barn seven, second isle. There are two empty stalls."

Laura watched them go. "Who are they?"

Without looking at her, Danny answered, "Yearlings from Castle Hill Farm up north. I won't be training them." She brushed by Laura and went around to the side of the trailer. The side door had been opened and a ramp had been drawn out. There was a slight commotion from inside, a harsh snort and gentle voice whose owner remained to be seen, and then stable manager Lola Perry stepped out onto the top of the ramp with a taut red lead rope in hand, clicking to the horse on the other end.

The horse snorted again, refusing to come out.

Perry disappeared back inside the trailer, whispering words to the horse that Laura couldn't hear. It seemed like hours before Perry at last was able to coax the horse out and down the ramp, revealing a lean-framed filly, solid black with no trace of any other color on her coat. She stood quiet by Perry, ears swiveled forward and her nostrils widening and shrinking, trying to figure out where she was and who it was who was in her presence. She tossed her head, throwing her long forelock out of her eyes to get a better look at the grou.

Perry lightly patted the filly's neck, though the horse pinned her ears and jerked her head. The redhead drew back, uncertain. "A bit touchy," she commented.

Laura took a cautious step forward as Danny looked the filly over. "Who's this?"

"The Count Vlad filly out of The Dean," Danny answered, walking forward to circle the filly. At the last name, the filly's ears shot up and her head went up, pulling at the lead rope. The whites of her eyes flashed. Her nostrils flared. She flatted her ears and tried to pull her head higher, tugging harder at the lead rope.

Perry clicked to the filly and pulled her head down before the situation could spin out of control. Carmilla obliged, albeit unwillingly, even if it was just to get the redhead off her back.

"They call her Carmilla," Danny went on, "since her sire is named after Vlad the Impaler. I guess they wanted to keep with the vampire theme."

At the sound of her name, Carmilla dragged one hoof through the dirt with a snort in a way that said _Damn right._

"Course, if you asked anyone who worked with her before, they'd probably tell you she's as bloodthirsty as they come," the trainer added. She patted the filly's neck, reaching under long, wavy mane that wasn't typically seen on racing Thoroughbreds; Carmilla pinned her ears and turned to nip at Danny, but Perry held her back

Laura frowned. "I think I know her name from somewhere…"

Danny and Perry turned to Laura, disbelief on their faces. "How?" Perry asked. "She's a racing legend, well, more or less. She dominated the track in her early career."

Laura took a breath, remembering the name she'd heard around the barns. Perry was right, the filly was a racing legend, and a champion, but something had changed in Carmilla's mannerisms that led to her winning streak breaking, and she repeatedly lost her races. What had happened to the filly after her disappearance from the race track after her last race, Laura didn't know. "What's she doing here?"

"I'm supposed to fix her," Danny answered, stepping back beside Laura.

"I thought you didn't rehabilitate washed-up racehorses?"

"I don't, but this one is a special order from the Karnsteins. They think their filly still has some potential left in her, and they're not ready to give up on her. They want me to fix her."

"They couldn't get another trainer to do it?" Laura regretted the words immediately as Danny turned to her, eyes hard. "Not that you can't help her, but this was a long way for her to come. You can help her, I know it, there's no one better for helping broken racehorses, I just mean that—"

Danny's expression softened. She put a hand on Laura's shoulder. "I know what you mean, Hollis." She sighed, looking back at the filly. "They tried to get another trainer to do it. But he just made her worse."

"What was his name?" Laura asked, feeling her blood turn warm with anger. She knew nothing of what had happened to Carmilla, but she had the distinct feeling it was nothing good.

"Timothy Coffin," the trainer answered. She waved Perry off to take the filly around in an easy walk. When the pair was far enough out of ear shot, she went on. "He put more weight on her than she's used to. Made the jockey whip her the whole length of track she ran when he trained her. It made her sour. No one wanted to get near her."

The filly Danny described didn't match the one that was willingly following Perry along at an easy trot. There was strength in the filly's body, strength that only came in a horse that was built for the track.

Laura tipped her head. "She doesn't seem that way now."

Danny took a breath. "She's probably calmed down a little now that she's out of that environment. Maybe that'll make her easier to work with."

"When are you going to start with her?"

"Not for a while," Danny said, shaking her head. "I want her to relax for a while, get used to the new barn. I'll start with her later next week. She needs a little down time right now. You up for helping me out?"

Excitement made Laura's stomach jump. Of course she was! "Oh, yes!" she said. "Absolutely!"

"Great." The trainer patted Laura on the shoulder, not taking her eyes off the filly as Perry took her into a steady jog. "Then in the mean time we can keep working with Detective Sherlock. I have to say, I'm impressed with the colt's progress. He's shaping up to be one hell of a racer."

Laura nodded, though she was only half-listening to what Danny was saying. She was distracted by the filly's movements, awestruck at the fact that there was a champion racehorse in her barn. _Her barn_, of all places. "How soon can I ride her?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

"Easy there, tiger," Danny said with a laugh. "I want to start her slow. Once she's had enough time off, I'll start her on a lunge line for a while, and go from there."

"Reasonable," Laura agreed, forcing her excitement down. She watched Carmilla as close as Danny, and now noticed a certain glaze in the filly's chocolate brown eyes, as though she was permanently sleepwalking, aware of her surroundings and movements but unable or unwilling to respond. It could have been from the ride down from northern Styria, Laura mused, sure that she had seen the same glaze in the eyes of the other two horses that had come down with Carmilla.

_She'll come out of it,_ Laura promised herself. _She just needs to rest up a little. She'll be fine._ _She'll be just fine._

But when she glanced at Danny as Perry led the filly away, Laura suddenly wondered if the glaze in Carmilla's eyes had less to do with the trip and more do with the reason for it.

* * *

**UPDATE 5/11/15: I'm reediting the first two chapters because I don't like the way they turned out. This story isn't that far along, but I'm getting that feeling that I have no direction for this as far as getting it to where I know it has to be. I'm doing my best, but let me know if there seems to be something wrong with the flow of the story. I want this to turn out the best it can!**

**A/N: This was inspired by Seabiscuit, Secretariat, Ruffian, and Racing Stripes. Again, no deeper meaning, no metaphor.**

**Brownie points to those of you who can figure out the symbolism of Timothy Coffin and all that. ;)**


	2. New Places, New Faces

Carmilla wondered as the redhead led her into the barn if she would like this one. It lacked everything she had come to hate: small, dark, cramped stalls, a crop-happy jockey, a brutal trainer, and more importantly, her mother. A relaxed sigh slipped from her. There were no horses here she recognized, and as she passed by the stalls, there were none that appeared to recognize her. That was good. She wanted to remain anonymous, where her mother would never find her, despite the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that ensured her that soon or later The Dean would find her again.

She snorted. The Dean had found her once before after she had been sold to the Karnsteins. If she had been able to find Carmilla at a barn nearly an hour away, Carmilla was sure she would be able to find her at a barn almost two hours away.

The sound of the stall door grating on its track snapped Carmilla out of her thoughts. She and the redhead had arrived at an empty stall, clean and filled with fresh saw dust. The dust irritated Carmilla's nose; she snorted again, shaking her head against the smell.

The redhead brought Carmilla around in a small circle and stopped her in front of a full blue water bucket. She unclipped the halter and slid it off Carmilla's head and then, forgetting herself, patted Carmilla on the neck. Carmilla pinned her ears and lunged at the girl, who jumped out of the stall just in time to avoid being bitten. _Touch me one more time, ginger! _Twice was two times too many. Carmilla scrapped her teeth on the bars of the stall door. If there was one thing she hated more than anything, even her mother, it was people touching her. There was a time when she would let most people touch her, but after Ell, she couldn't take it anymore. There was no one else she wanted putting an unnecessary hand on her.

With fear in her eyes, the redhead tossed Carmilla's halter and lead rope onto the hook beside the stall door and hurried off. Carmilla was alone with her thoughts at last. She had spent almost two hours crammed in a trailer with five other horses. By no means was she a fan of close quarters. She had lost her fondness for tight spaces after her time spent training under Timothy Coffin. Due to her apparent temper, the man had kept her locked in a stall too small for a full-grown horse, but just large enough for a few miniature horses. There had hardly been enough room for her to lie down, which especially frustrated her when she preferred to sprawl out on her side when she slept. It made for a number of sleepless nights, which only fed into her sour temper, bitterness, and anger.

This stall, however, Carmilla found as she turned and looked around her new housing, was large and airy, and had enough room for her to lie down and spread herself out. The saw dust was going to take some getting used to, but that was a minor setback considering she was no longer being kept in a gift box.

Her first instinct was to roll, to rid herself of the itch on her back, but as she sank to her knees and voice across the way stopped her.

"So you're the one who's taken my stall?"

Carmilla stood and turned to face her accuser, a palomino filly standing a hand and two inches taller. This was another filly built for racing. Her form was long and sleek, her mane cut short, and her coat and shiny as Carmilla's.

Carmilla stepped closer to the door of her stall, nearly pressing her nose into the bars. "What do you mean _your_ _stall_?" she asked pointedly. "I don't see your name on it."

The filly tossed her narrow head, ears pinned. "You evicted me from the stall I have lived in for over a year. You had no right."

An amused snort escaped Carmilla. "That's adorable, sunshine, really, but this stall was empty when I showed up. I've hardly evicted you from anywhere."

But the filly was hardly deterred. "Do you know who I am?"

"Should I?" There was no harm in humoring the pompous filly, Carmilla decided, swiveling her ears forward in false interest.

"Queen Anne's Lace," the filly answered. "I won all seven of my starts, and I'm the favorite to win the Filly Triple Crown in the spring."

Carmilla rolled her eyes. "That's charming, cupcake." She wanted to add that she had won ten of her starts and two legs of the Lower Austria Filly Triple Crown when her former owners had shipped her up north, rather than keep her in Styria and run her in the Styrian Filly Triple Crown. The last thing she wanted was this filly interrogating her about her losses and her dead jockey. "So what do they call you around here, then?"

The filly pinned her ears with a snort. "Betty."

_Betty?_ Carmilla burst out laughing, unable to control herself, thinking back to a conversation she had heard once in her old barn. Of all the things they could have given this filly as a barn name, they had to go and call her Betty?

Betty scraped the floor of her stall, knocking her hoof against the door. "This isn't funny!"

Carmilla stopped laughing, trying to catch her breath. "Of course it's funny," she objected. "They named you after a _baking company!_"

"Of course they didn't," Betty snorted. "They named me after Bertha Spielsdorf. I'm owned by the Spielsdorf family, you know. They have a handicap race named after them. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"Oh, yes!" Carmilla said, raising her head. "You mean the race I won last year? Yes, I've heard of it."

At that, Betty threw her head up, surprised. "You must be Carmilla, then," she said, voice sour. "What brings such a high-and-mighty racehorse to a hut like this?" She nodded toward the inner fixings of the barn's structure.

Carmilla turned her head away. "That's my business," she answered. "I'd prefer if you didn't mind it."

Betty snorted, silently agreeing to Carmilla's demand. "They named you after a monster."

Carmilla chuckled. "Better than being named after a baking company."

~O~

For the first day after that, Carmilla was left in her stall to rest and recuperate. She needed the time off the recover after the long ride down to Silas, and although she would have preferred to have been let out into one of the many fields of the farm, Carmilla was content to be in her stall where no one could bother her.

She munched slowly on her lunch hay, feeling no need to shovel the food down her throat when she had all the time in the world to finish it. She paused occasionally to bite away an itch or fly or scratch the side of her face on her leg.

Her lunch was only interrupted when someone leaned on the door of her stall and clicked to her.

Carmilla sighed. These people were quickly proving that they had no sense of the concept of _personal space._ Whoever was at her stall was another irritating gremlin that was just as ignorant of her personal space as the rest.

The visitor clicked to her again, and when she didn't respond, whistled.

Carmilla flattened her ears. All she asked for was a calm day to be left unbothered. Why was that so much to ask for? But she felt inclined enough to see who it was who had the nerve to bother her, though she made it a point to raise her head after the noises. She didn't need this visitor thinking she was responding.

She assumed it was some random stable hand, one who knew nothing about her, other than she was a new horse, and a pretty little black one at that. But instead, it was the tiny blonde human she had seen the day before in the ring. She raised her ears. _Well, this is a surprise. I would have thought she had another horse to take care of somewhere. Lucky me._

The little blonde was still in her helmet, goggles perched on top, and riding clothes. She must have been on another horse before she decided to pay Carmilla a visit. Carmilla caught the scent of track dirt and a strange horse on the girl.

Carmilla stared at the blonde. _So you're a jockey? _She snorted. The girl was probably going to be _her_ jockey when the time came. _Well, I'm your new mount, sweetheart. Just don't think I'll make this easy for you. I know all the tricks of the trade. Some might even say I know too much._

She sighed as the girl continued to stare at her with an amazed—dreamy, even—smile on her face. _Is there something I can do for you, cupcake?_

When the jockey didn't answer, Carmilla dropped her head down and went back to her hay. If all the girl was going to do was stare, that was fine with her. It was unsettling, but it was better that have to listen to her yak or try to get her attention.

"You know it's not often we have a racing champion here at the barn," the blonde said.

Carmilla rolled her eyes. If the short conversation with the tall redhead was any indication, the jockey could run her mouth for hours on end if no one told her to shut her trap or if she didn't trip over her words. _So much for not having to listen to her talk._

"There have been a couple," the jockey went on, "but Danny didn't train any of them. Well, no. She helped train one of them… a little bit. But it was mostly Kirsch who trained them."

_Kirsch?_

Now _that_ was a name Carmilla was familiar with. She hadn't heard it in quite some time, but she knew it well enough. She raised her head and met the blonde's eyes, ears forward in curiosity.

"You might know him," the blonde said. "He trains your half-brother, Shakespeare."

_Will,_ Carmilla corrected, pinning her ears. The Dean had always favored Will over her, even before she'd lost herself after her jockey's death. His name wasn't one she thought she'd hear any time soon. _What's he doing these days?_

"He's been running all over Styria," the blonde continued. "I haven't seen any of his races on TV or in person, but I've heard he's won all of them. He's undefeated, just like you were. Well, like you will be. Once Danny's done with you, you'll be right back to your old self. The other horses won't know what hit them!"

_Wishful thinking, creampuff, _Carmilla sighed. _But you don't know how long it will take to fix me. _She huffed. _Let Willyboy have the glory if it gets my mother off my back. _If The Dean was more focused on Will, there was less of a chance she would turn her attention to Carmilla, and Carmilla preferred it that way.

She bent her head down to take another mouthful of hay, but the blonde spoke again.

"My name's Laura, by the way…"

_Laura?_ Carmilla raised her head again, not hearing what else the blonde said. _Laura? No, that's too close._ She pinned her ears and lunged at Laura with a harsh neigh. _Don't come near me!_ She reared up, flashing her teeth. The blonde staggered back, nearly tripping over herself, and leaned against the stall across from Carmilla's, startling Betty enough that the palomino filly kicked the walls of her stall.

"_Danny!" _

Carmilla kicked at the door, neighing her protest. Of course it was just her luck that she would get a jockey with a name that reminded her too much of her dead one. She couldn't let herself get too close to this one, not again.

Danny came rushing over, her attention torn between the spooked Betty, nervous Laura, and raging Carmilla. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know," Laura answered breathlessly. "I was just talking to her. I-I told her my name, and she-she came at me…"

The ginger trainer steadied Laura against the wall. "Are you okay? You're not hurt? She didn't bite you?"

"No, no." The little jockey shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Okay. Go to the tack room. She'll calm down faster if she can't see you."

Nodding, Laura stood and shakily made her way to the tack room, far out of Carmilla's line of sight. Now it was just Carmilla and Danny, and Carmilla was in no mood for dealing with Danny right after Laura. She turned circles in her stall, head high, watching as the trainer slowly approached. She pinned her ears and lunged for a second time. _Get the hell away from me!_

But Danny wasn't deterred. She came slowly, one hand up. "Easy, girl, easy. Ho, Carmilla."

Carmilla huffed, her circling slowed to pacing. The trainer was convincing, but not so much that it calmed Carmilla's nerves. She would be better off when everyone had left her alone. Nothing would have gone wrong if the jockey hadn't taken it upon herself to spill her life's story. She squealed and knocked at the door. _You can get away from me now. Take care of Betty Crocker over there. I don't need you._

And then they were at a standstill, horse and trainer staring back at each other, until Betty squealed and kicked the wall of her stall again, spooking the horses around her. Even Carmilla jumped, but it was more in amusement than fear. The palomino mare was so high-strung she didn't know how to handle the situation.

With a satisfied snort, Carmilla dropped her head and seemingly went back to her hay now that Danny was more concerned with the jumpy mare than with Carmilla.

But she couldn't eat another mouthful of hay. Her future jockey's name was Laura, and that was far too close for Carmilla's liking.

~O~

The curly redhead, Perry, who led Carmilla from her stall and the barn the next morning and out onto a farm complex Carmilla found to be larger than expected.

At the center of the farm was a barn complex of ten barns, each one housing horses of varying ages, from mares to stallions, colts, fillies, broodmares, and the like. Around the barns spanned what seemed, and very well may have been, miles of green pastures marked off by white fences. There were smaller pastures fenced off in addition to the massive ones meant for multiple horses, meant for one or two horses. The pasture Carmilla was being led to was one that ran up a gentle slope. It was close to a dirt side road with only a foot of grass in between the fence and the road, too close for comfort in Carmilla's opinion, but she would take it regardless.

She shook her head against the leather halter that rubbed against her face and stood with the gate at her back. The open space in front of her made her nerves tingle. She wanted to run from fence to fence, racing imaginary horses, feel the wind in her mane, but the sickness in her heart held her back. Running made her thoughts circle back to Ell, and when her thoughts circled back to Ell, she lost the will to run. Running was what had gotten Ell killed, and Carmilla could no longer bear to associate herself with what reminded her of Ell.

So with a heavy sigh, Carmilla tossed up her head and trotted up the fence line toward the far long side of the pasture. She stopped at the corner and looked over the fence at the massive pasture in front of her. It was empty as far as she could see and smell. She turned back toward the small expanse of field behind her and found the two redheads and the tiny blonde watching her from the gate. Perry turned to the other two and said something Carmilla couldn't hear, even with her ears shoved forward. She pinned them and snorted angrily, scraping the ground with one hoof.

There were two things in life Carmilla Karnstein disliked more than her bloodline: Being touched, and not knowing what people were saying about her.

She turned and scraped her teeth on the fence. Taking out her anger on an inanimate object was better and easier than going all the way down the hill to take her anger out on the three girls and having to interact with them.

Then she caught Laura's voice on the wind: "I…think she knows we're talking about her."

Carmilla pounded her hoof into the ground once and tossed her head up, snorting. _You really think, cupcake?_ She scraped her teeth along the fence again. Now it was just irritating. She fought the urge to smash the fence to pieces. Doing so would only mean having those wretched little urchins put their hands all over her. _Not today_.

"Well, let's leave her alone, then," Danny suggested, her voice clear on the wind but still far. "Give her some time to herself." She patted Laura on the shoulder and turned the blonde away. Perry followed closely. None of them spared a glance back at her.

Shaking her too long forelock out of her face, Carmilla dropped her head and sniffed the grass. Her stomach balked at the scent, and she picked her head up, unwilling to give herself colic.

She walked along the fence line, occasionally scraping her teeth against the pristine wood, tearing off the paint and leaving deep gouges in the board. That was what they got for leaving her unsupervised.

Carmilla shook her head, pulling away from the fence and turning to walk back to her original corner. She knew she was bitter. She knew she was angry. She knew she was sour. She recognized all the things wrong with her, but didn't know how to fix it. Everywhere she went she looked for a fight, an outlet for her pent-up rage. She wanted to draw blood over Ell's death; it didn't matter who it came from as long it came. She wanted to feel the real, physical pain of a well-fought fight. She wanted to know she was still alive, that she could still feel. The sting of the crop meant nothing, it was a thorn in her side that she found was easy to ignore; it did nothing to remind her that she wasn't over yet.

She shook her head again. To think that the Karnsteins worried enough about her to have her shipped out. Part of her almost wished they would have euthanized her months ago, put her out of her misery to let her join Ell. She couldn't see a future for herself in racing, not when little brother Will was dominating the track in her absence. _Mother always did like him better_.

The Dean insisted that Carmilla was her diamond, her glittering filly, but Carmilla knew better. Will never knew their mother's anger, not like Carmilla had, if the lack of tiny gray scars under his fur were any indication. Carmilla's were hardly noticeable against her black coat unless one looked closely, and even then the general consensus was that she'd gotten them during a race, when another horse came to close to her. No one knew of her relationship with The Dean, whom Carmilla knew sported some scars of her own, from races, turn out, and Carmilla's teeth.

Carmilla's former owners had liked to think she was a perfect combination of The Dean and Count Vlad, but Carmilla knew she took more after her dam than she did her sire, appearances aside. She had her mother's temper, although hers had worsened over the course of eight months; and she knew she had her mother's fiery competitiveness that urged her to keep any other competitors from getting ahead of her. It was what had gotten her to the winner's circle time and time again until her eleventh race. Everything had fallen apart, then, but that was a blame she was willing to rest on her mother's shoulders. She didn't need her mother to remind her what she was born to do. She had everyone else around her doing that enough.

When the fence line came formed a corner, Carmilla stopped and turned to look down across the barn complex. There seemed to be more activity on this barn than she was used to, or perhaps she was just noticing it for the first time, now that she wasn't shut up in a dark stall and run from dawn until dusk. It was a rather nice change of pace, she mused, being able to watch the usual activity from a distance rather than being a part of it. It was just a shame it wouldn't stay like that forever.

Some of the horses that passed looked up at Carmilla with interest, wondering who this new filly was who graced the barn with her presence. She doubted any of them knew her; she had never raced any of the horses she watched, as they were all too young to run with her, but they seemed to sense that something of a racing legend was staring back at them, though Carmilla could hardly consider herself as such. She had only done what she was trained to do, however much she used to enjoy it.

With a slow huff, Carmilla lowered herself to the ground and rolled, the first chance she had gotten to do so since her arrival. Betty insisted on keeping her engaged in pointless conversation each time she had tried to roll, as though the palomino didn't want Carmilla disturbing the turf of her old stall.

Carmilla made sure to take her time rolling, knowing it might be a while before she got the chance again, to rid herself of an irritating itch on her back. When it was gone, she stood and shook the dirt from her coat, then settled down in the same patch of grass for a well-deserved nap. If there was one thing other than her temper and her races that Carmilla was famous for, it was her ability to sleep lying down for hours on end. It was the only way she could get a decent sleep without voices constantly ringing in her ears.

She took a breath and blew out a raspy stretch of air, catching a glimpse of the redheaded trainer leading a bay horse from the barn. She smirked and wriggled in the grass to get herself as comfortable as possible. _Wake me up when it's dinner time, cupcake._

* * *

**A/N: For those of you wondering, the "baking company" Carmilla teases Betty about is Betty Crocker. ;) No disrespect to Betty Crocker, of course! (Great brownies, by the way)**

**EDIT: This is a rewrite of this chapter. I've gone through and edited the first two, and I am currently working on the third one now that Carmilla Season 2 is officially here! I can't give you an exact date to expect the next chapter, maybe within the next week or so, I'll see what happens.**


	3. Tell Me What's Wrong

Laura went home that night hoping to sleep well, but instead found herself watching Carmilla's races over and over again. The filly was an absolute powerhouse, smoking the competition by fifteen, seventeen, twenty, twenty-five lengths. Once she got going, there was no stopping her and there was no catching up to her. It made her a dangerous competitor, and Laura could see why, over time, the number of horses racing with Carmilla had dwindled. No one wanted to run their horse in a race they knew for sure they couldn't win.

Only trainer Edward Callahan was ballsy enough to run his undefeated filly, Swan Song, against Carmilla in her eighth race, the Westenra Handicap, in northern Styria. The dark bay filly had put up a real fight, refusing to back down and trailing Carmilla for nearly the entire length of the race, but Carmilla pushed ahead and won the race by two lengths, her narrowest margin ever. That race had ended Swan Song's undefeated streak and added to Carmilla's.

She clicked on the video for Carmilla's tenth race, and sat back against her pillow just as the starting gate opened and the horses shot out onto the track. For only a moment Carmilla was ahead of the field, then around the first turn it became clear to Laura that something was wrong with the black filly. She wasn't giving it her all; the usual fire and vigor she had previously run with was no longer there.

"Come on, Carmilla," she found herself whispering. "Come on. _Come on_."

But Carmilla slipped further and further back in the pack. She wasn't listening to her jockey when he got down and scrubbed on her, even when he showed her the crop. It was as though she had gone blind and deaf to everything around her, like her heart was somewhere other than the racetrack.

That was more than evident at the end of the race when Laura watched with a twisting stomach as Carmilla trailed across the wire dead last, nine lengths behind the rest of the field.

She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling as upset and disappointed as though she'd been right there at the track. What could have caused Carmilla to go from an unmatchable winning streak to a disappointing string of losses?

It had nothing to do with the crop, Laura was sure. Carmilla's jockey had never needed to use the crop on her, even when she was falling behind. She was a horse that needed little encouragement, and one that Laura guessed would react badly to use of the crop.

No stick! Danny's words rang in Laura's ears. The trainer wasn't a fan of the crop, and as a result never let her jockeys use it. She would take it from the jockeys if she could, but it was a rule that jockeys had to have a crop with them when they rode.

Laura had been on a few horses in her day that had either almost thrown her or stopped entirely in the middle of the track. Some knew it as a cue to let loose, but there weren't very many of those. It was all about knowing when and where on the track to use the crop, and how the horse would react. Carmilla, up until her abusive trainer, was a horse that had never had the crop used on her. How she had reacted when her that trainer used it on her, Laura didn't know. There was no video evidence of that.

If not the crop, then what?

Laura searched the internet for any horse racing articles related to Carmilla. The veterinarian reports she found offered no further insight; according to the vets, Carmilla was a healthy two-year-old filly. There was nothing holding her back from blazing along the track. In short: they had nothing.

To her surprise there was even a short video from an equine psychologist that suggested Carmilla was tired of racing, that she had run all she was willing to run and it was time to retire her to the fields as a broodmare. But that was all the video said, because Carmilla had decided she'd had enough and bit the woman.

~O~

Carmilla was out in the field again when Laura pulled into the barn complex the next morning. She'd gotten there later than usual, since Danny had been working with another horse and jockey earlier that morning. She stopped to check on Carmilla, reminding herself to keep her distance after yesterday's incident, and found the filly slowly chewing a mouthful of grass. But today Carmilla seemed calmer, and when she raised her head at Laura's presence, she simply stared at the blonde, huffed, and went back to her grass. Laura guessed it was the closest thing to an apology she was ever going to get from Carmilla, or any other horse, for that matter.

The barn was relatively quiet considering how close to the beginning of the racing season it was. Although, alternatively, the barn was quiet _because_ it was getting close to the beginning of the racing season, and all the trainers and horses were down at the track preparing for it. Everyone needed to be at their best when the season kicked off in April. The races were smaller and lesser known, but they led up to the first leg of the colt Triple Crown in June, the Town Hall Derby, and from there the Dudley Handicap and the Adonis Handicap.

Everyone was hoping for another Triple Crown this year, just as they did every year. It had been six years since the last Triple Crown winner, who just so happened to be Carmilla's sire, Count Vlad. The massive blood bay stallion swept all three legs of the Crown with ease. Once he had won the first two legs by fifteen-length and seventeen-length leads, there was no question that unless something wild happened, Vlad was going to be the next Triple Crown winner.

It had been the same with Carmilla's dam, The Dean, who had swept the Filly Triple Crown with the same amount of ease the Vlad had in his Triple Crown.

Laura heard whispering as she went through the barn to the tack room about Carmilla's chances in the Filly Triple Crown. After all, the filly was the offspring of two of the best horses Austria had ever seen, and both of those horses had swept their respective Crowns with little to no effort. And Carmilla was a powerhouse in her own right. Why couldn't she win it?

_Because she's not ready._ This was only Carmilla's second day at Silas. She needed the time off before she got back into the rigorous work schedule seen by other horses. And there was still a glaze in her eyes that Laura wasn't sure would ever wear off. She'd seen it in the post-race interview with Carmilla's jockey and trainer after the first race Carmilla lost.

"She's just not herself today," the trainer had commented. "But we'll get her checked out and work with her, and she'll be one hundred percent by the next race."

But Carmilla wasn't, and the glaze remained. If that trainer hadn't been able to bring her out of it, Laura wondered if Danny had any chance.

Laura paused to pat a pretty bay colt on the nose. He stretched his neck out to sniff her shirt as she played with his forelock and scratched his neck. His lips closed around the collar of her shirt, and finally she gently pushed him away with a laugh. "No, no, Boston, you can't have that. I need it." She rubbed his face affectionately, patted him on the nose once more, and headed off down the aisle. She had nothing better to do until Danny got back from the track.

So she wandered off to the other side of the barn and said hello to all the horses that were there until she found herself across the way in another barn and faced with a rambunctious palomino filly who was giving her handlers a hard time. Laura didn't recognize the filly or the handlers, a black-haired older man in his sixties and a younger brown-haired man. The filly was wriggling around in the aisle, refusing to stand still as the brown-haired man tried to pick her hoof and the older man tried to hold her by her halter.

"Do you guys need a little help there?" Laura asked, cautiously approaching. Danny would have a fight to pick with an unlucky someone if Laura got kicked by another trainer's horse.

The older man looked over his shoulder as the filly threw her head up. "Oh, hello—Whoa, girl, easy, easy. Sorry, yes, could you try to saddle her? I want to take her out and let her run on the trail for a change."

"But she's being a brat," the younger man said in a French accent, dropping the filly's hoof and elbowing her flank to get her away from the wall. He bent down and picked up her hind hoof to clean it. The filly pinned her ears and tried to pull her hoof from his hands.

"Sure." Laura eyed the filly warily as she picked up the saddle and pad from the rack. The filly eyed her with the same suspicion, her nostrils flaring as she took in Laura's scent. Laura slid the saddle and pad onto one arm and ran her hand down the filly's neck to calm her. She carefully plopped the saddle onto her back, half expecting her to squirm, but she stood still, and she thought it was more her curiosity in who this new visitor was than being calmed that was her reason for being so still now.

With the groom's help, she was able to get the saddle on the filly with no other issues. She declined to put the bridle on her, leaving that up to the handlers. Instead, she wandered back over to her barn, wondering who the filly was. She made a mental note to ask Danny when she got back from the track.

She didn't have to wait long; as it turned out, Danny was just leading her gray Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred escort Marty into his stall.

"Hey, Danny."

Danny spun around from slipping the halter over her horse's head. "Oh, hey, Laura. Are you ready to work Sherlock?"

"Yep!"

"Okay, great. Just give me a minute with Marty and I'll be right over to help you out."

Laura slowly made her way over to Sherlock's stall; Danny met her about halfway and they walked the rest of the way there together. She peered out the door on the side of the barn as she went by to see if the two men she'd helped earlier had finally gotten their filly under control. It turned out they had; she saw them leading the anxious filly across the open space in between the barns. She turned to Danny.

"Who's that? Where'd she come from?"

Danny followed Laura's line of sight to the filly. "She's visiting," she clarified. "Her owner brought her down from England to try her in some of the Styrian races for a change. They call her PG. Did you know she's Carmilla's half-sister?"

Laura looked up at the trainer. She should have expected it, but it hadn't occurred to her for whatever reason that Carmilla had other half-siblings other than Will. "Carmilla's…half-sister?" she repeated slowly.

"On her sire's side," Danny added. "That filly belongs to Count Vlad, too. Though now she belongs to some rich family in England who was looking to get back into the horseracing industry. Hallston, I think the name is." She paused a moment to wave at the trainer, the older man.

"You know him?" Laura asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Sparing one last glance at the filly, Danny turned away and head down to Detective Sherlock's stall. "Yeah, I met him a few years back, before you and I were working together, when I trained horses in England for two years. Walter Dormer," she went on, taking the halter and lead rope from its hook. "He's an old time trainer for the Hallston family for almost thirty years before they dropped out of horseracing. When I met him he was sort of in retirement. He wasn't training horses, but he hadn't officially left the industry himself. He was my advisor for a while."

Laura nodded, grabbing two brushes from a nearby rack. "And the other guy?"

Danny shrugged. "Dunno. I've never met him before." She slid opened the door to Detective Sherlock's stall and stepped in. The big bay colt raised his head at Danny's presence, a mouthful of hay hanging from his mouth. He snorted and dropped his head. He always had been a little on the lazy side, but once he got going, he couldn't seem to stop. In Laura's opinion, he was a strange horse.

"Ah, no." Danny reached down and forced Sherlock's head up. "Not today, big boy." She slipped the halter over his head, clipped the lead rope to it, and all but dragged the colt away from his food and out into the aisle. She tied him on the crossties, and she and Laura went about brushing the saw dust from his otherwise clean coat.

It was only until they tacked him up that Laura realized they weren't loading him into the trailer as she would have expected. She stepped back as Danny slipped the bridle over his head. "Danny, what are we doing with him? I thought we were going to take him down to the track?"

Danny shrugged with a smile. "Not today. I though today we might take him on the trail for a change. Maybe Sherlock and PG can get acquainted." She patted the colt on the neck and took the reins from around his neck. "Come on, big boy."

They went out into the yard behind the barn and headed toward the trail that started on the other side of the barn complex, in between a well-trimmed pasture and an overgrown forest. But the trail, Danny assured Laura, was clear and well cared for, and Walter and PG, the palomino filly Laura had helped tack up, would be waiting for them when they arrived.

They were, with Walter holding PG by one rein and the groom in the saddle. He was a bit tall to be riding a fifteen-and-and-three-inches hands two-year-old filly, but he was apparently the only option. Laura hadn't seen anyone else around who might have been PG's jockey, aside from herself, but she was Sherlock's jockey, and in the future, Carmilla's.

Speaking of which, "Carmilla seems better today."

"Yeah," Danny agreed, "she's had some time to calm down. She's still grumpy with me, but I'm not expecting that to change any time soon." She pulled Sherlock to a halt and smiled at Walter. "Nice to see you again, Walter," she said, holding out her hand.

Walter, with a smile of his own, reached out and shook Danny's hand. "And you, Miss Lawrence. How has the training been going?"

"Not bad. I see you're back in the industry."

The palomino filly whickered.

"For now," Walter said, patting the filly on the nose. "Miss Hallston thought she'd try her hand at racing just this once."

"And how did she come across a filly with the likes of this one? It's expensive to get a foal from Count Vlad."

"Luck, I suppose," Walter replied as Danny gave Laura a leg up into the saddle. "Although I can't give you the details specifically. Miss Hallston's rule, of course."

Danny checked Sherlock's girth; Laura evened out her reins and tested the length of the stirrups. They were just right, and Danny held Sherlock by one rein while she finished up her conversation with Walter. "Of course. So," she said, addressing the riders, "are you two ready?"

Both nodded. "How far do you want me to take him?" Laura asked.

The trainers exchanged glances, then Danny looked up at Laura. "Till he stops. We're going to do the same for Carmilla, once get her back in shape."

Walter gave Danny a look that spelled out the black filly's name, and in turn received a look of his own promising to enlighten him on the situation once their jockeys were on their way. There were very few people in the horseracing industry who hadn't heard Carmilla's name at least once.

The trainers check over the horses and the equipment one more time before sending the jockeys off the on the trail. But as they were about to give the final okay, Laura turned around in the saddle. "What does 'PG' stand for?"

Danny and Walter smiled. "Police Girl," they answered.

Laura took the answer with confusion, but no other questions. On the trainers' final okay, the horses sprang forward, the jockeys sat low in their seats, and the four of them took of blazing down the trail.

~O~

Danny watched the four run off into the woods. She was really quite impressed with how Sherlock was coming along. He was getting stronger and faster, and he was shaping up to be better on the track this coming season than he had been last season. The colt had great potential, she could feel it, but he hadn't shown that in his first few races. She thought he just needed more time to get comfortable with the track before he could really let loose. She just hoped she wouldn't have to divide her attention too much between him and Carmilla. The filly was going to be a piece of work she wasn't sure she could fix.

"Tell me about Carmilla." Walter's attention had turned from the trail to her. She ran her fingers through her hair, wondering where to begin.

"The Karnsteins sent her down to me two days ago," she decided to start.

"Ah." Walter nodded. "I see this is going to be a long one. Why don't we take a walk?"

Danny waved her hand to the open space. Walter went on ahead of her and she caught up as they made their way along the fence line of the nearby pasture. "I don't know all the details yet," she admitted. "The Karnsteins said they'd bought Carmilla from the Morgan family eight months ago. From what I understand, the Morgans didn't want her anymore because she wasn't bringing in money because she wasn't racing well. So they sold her."

The older trainer nodded thoughtfully. "Why wasn't Carmilla racing well? Based on what I've heard of her, she was unmatched."

"I don't know." Danny shrugged. "I guess the Morgans didn't tell the Karnsteins anything about Carmilla's, eh, condition. The Karnsteins had no idea why their filly was lethargic and unresponsive. They still don't. They hired a trainer they thought would be good for Carmilla, but they think he made her worse."

"What happened?"

With an uneasy sigh, Danny told Walter about the brutal trainer that had worked with Carmilla before she was shipped to Silas and the methods he'd used to try to get a response out of the filly. "But one day she'd decided she'd had enough, tossed the jockey, knocked the trainer to the ground, and took off. Mr. Karnstein said it took him and his son almost two hours to corral Carmilla."

Walter shook his head in disapproval. "What was the trainer's name?"

"Timothy Coffin."

"Ah, yes. I worked with him fifteen years ago in London. He was as brutal then as he is now." He slid his hands into his pockets. "You know I never approved of the crop. And especially not for horses who need a more…gentle touch."

"I do," Danny said, laughing. "I picked that up from you. I never let my riders use the crop. Showing it to the horse is one thing, but using it is another, even for encouragement."

"I always did hold that philosophy myself," Walter agreed. "What do you know about Carmilla before she was sold?"

"She was a regular powerhouse!" Danny smiled. "She had a fire inside her like I've never seen. I think it's still there, but I don't know where…"

She'd seen Carmilla's races, too. Never in person, but online, the minute she had gotten the phone call from the Karnsteins asking for Danny to help Carmilla. She'd needed to know exactly what it was she was going to be dealing with, though it hadn't occurred to her just how faded Carmilla was until she'd shown up at the barn. The glaze in her eyes was one Danny recognized to be a sign of a burnt-out racehorse, one whose heart no longer laid on the track but elsewhere. Although in Carmilla's case, "elsewhere" was unclear. It wasn't the field, that much was sure.

And she said as much to Walter, who crossed his arms and frowned thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his elbow. It was the look of someone who was working with little information, but trying to make as much of it as he can. Danny thought he was going to say something once or twice and continued to think. Then he looked up at her: "I'd like to see Carmilla, if you wouldn't mind."

If he could give her any advice on what to do with her soul-sick filly, then by all means, she would let him see Carmilla. "Of course. Right this way."

Danny led him around the barn complex to the pasture near the dirt side road leading to a secondary entrance-exit to the farm. She rested her elbows on the fence, gesturing to the black filly rolling listlessly in the middle of the field. Carmilla rolled onto her side, back to Danny and Walter, rolled onto her back and wriggled in the dirt, and flopped onto her side to face them. Danny could have sworn Carmilla rolled her eyes as she sighed. "This is her. You wouldn't think she was a champion racehorse from the way she lounges around in the field."

Walter joined her at the fence with a soft laugh. "Looks can be deceiving," he murmured.

Danny eyed Walter curiously. Was there something he could see in the filly all the way from the fence that she couldn't see up close? She was about to ask what he meant by that, but was cut off by his next question: "Would it be a problem if I went in to get a closer look at her?"

It occurred to Danny at the same time that she thought of Carmilla's fit the previous morning that the filly could go from calm to furious in a matter of seconds. Walter may have been an experienced horse handler, but even the most experienced of handlers could be overpowered. But there was something in Walter's eyes that gave Danny the impression that there was definitely something he could see that she couldn't.

"I suppose so," she said, moving to unlock the gate. "Just be careful. She's…kind of unpredictable."

Walter nodded understandingly as he walked into the pasture. Carmilla raised her head at the stranger who dared to enter her pasture. Who was he? And what was it that he wanted?

It was unclear at first what his intentions were. He had come with Danny, but he held no halter or lead rope in his hands. He wasn't looking to corral her. Well, that certainly changed things.

With a heavy sigh, Carmilla rolled onto her stomach and stood up. This man was not one she had ever met before in her short racing career. She got the impression from one sniff that the man was a trainer, and an experienced one at that. He knew how to stand and walk toward her without appearing to be hostile, something Carmilla could appreciate. Even when they didn't mean to, some trainers were just too forceful for her liking.

"I understand you've been through some difficult times," the trainer said.

Carmilla bobbed her head gently. _I suppose you could say that._

"I'm sorry to hear that." Walter circled her; Carmilla watched him do it. He kept a distance far enough from her that she didn't feel the need to kick at him. He was simply inspecting her for any physical injuries. She only hoped he wouldn't notice the little gray scars on her coat.

If he did, he said nothing. With enough warning, he bent down to check each of her legs, and Carmilla let him. There was something about him that calmed her more than any other trainer she had been around. He understood her in a way no other trainer, though he was as perplexed by her condition as the rest. She didn't mind when he laid his ear against her stomach to check for gut sounds, though vets had long ago ruled out colic.

Walter apparently agreed with them, sighing when he finally circled back around to face her. He looked over her one more time, double checking his initial assumption, and shook his head.

"I have worked with and seen many horses in my time, Miss Karnstein, but none quiet such as yourself."

Carmilla supposed that to be a compliment, and raised her head slightly. Something in her wanted him to know just how much she was hurting. If he had seen as many horses as he implied, then surely he could understand that some experienced a heartbreak that was difficult, if not impossible, to mend.

Walter met her eyes. It didn't take long for understanding to show on his face. He stepped closer and made a move that suggest he was going to touch her face. The minute Carmilla pinned her ears, he dropped his arms.

"I'm sorry," was all he said. It was the first time Carmilla had ever heard someone acknowledge her loss.

* * *

**A/N: So many references, so little time. I have a general direction I want this to go in, but other than that I am making this up as I go along. I've also been kind of waiting to see how Season 2 of Carmilla plays out to see if maybe I could add any of the new characters into this. So far *spoiler, kind of* Mattie is the only one that's going to be making an appearance.  
**

**I had to change the time frame for horse racing in Austria from early- or mmid-November to April, because when it snows in Austria, _it snows._ I also couldn't find a real time frame for Austria's horse racing season, so I modeled it off of...Germany, I believe, or another country close to Austria. I can't remember right now.**

**Sorry this took so long! I hit a road block and couldn't get past one part for a while. No set date for Chapter 4.**


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